by Amanda Rose
"I LOVE THIS MOVIE!" I shout!
"I knew we made the right decision!" Will shouts, and I shush him. I don't want to miss Santa slaying zombie elves, or William Shatner in all his cheesy glory. Everyone just laughs, and we settle in for the movie and our food.
CHAPTER TEN
I follow Warren and Magnus into the kitchen. After our crazy night last night, we're all in search of food. I'm only wearing my short, tight, dancing shorts and a thin, racerback tank top. I make sure to walk a few steps behind the guys, so I can admire both men in their shirtless forms. Maybe we can skip breakfast and just go back into the bedroom for desert. I reach out in front of me and trace the line down Warren's toned back from his shoulder blades down to his ass. He stops right before we reach the kitchen, and I wrap my arms around him, running my hands over the hard muscles of his abs. He practically purrs and covers my hands with his, and starts to slide them down, toward his the front of his pants. Magnus clears his throat from the kitchen, and Warren stops the descent of our hands. We both groan in frustration.
"We need to eat, then we can continue where we left off last night." He says, then opens the fridge and starts digging around. I sit down on a stool at the island and Warren sit's next to me, placing his hand on my thigh and sliding it up until he reaches the crease my crotch.
"Can't we just put Cadence on top of the island, spread her legs, and eat her?" He says. Magnus freezes in front of the fridge, but doesn't turn around. I look at Warren, and his eyes are hooded with lust. His gaze is so much darker than his brother's. He's so much darker than his brother, in so many ways.
"Food first." Magnus says, tossing a few items on the island bar. Fruit, cheese slices, some sliced salami wrapped in paper, bread. Warren doesn't even wait for plates; he just starts grabbing food and shoving it in his mouth. Magnus turns holding plates, and sends Warren a glare. Warren just shrugs and shoves more food in his mouth. I take a plate from Magnus and pile it with fruit and salami. Warren sits in the stool on the other side of me, and the three of us eat in perfect silence.
“So what do you guys do, anyway?” I blurt out. They both look at each other.
“You don’t have to tell me everything. I get it. What do you do though?” I look directly at Warren. “Magnus is the muscle...right? Will is the mouth, Forrest the brains, what are you?” I ask him. He takes a deep breath, then cocks an eyebrow.
“I’m in...reconnaissance. I’m good at gathering information, by any means. I’m also a pretty good mechanic.” He says. His words are a bit chilling.
“You’re pretty close on the rest of us.” Magnus says, and I look over at him. We’re so lost in each other's company, we don't hear Killian sneak up behind us.
"So this is where my two best men are? Feeding the whore -" I jump up and spin around, to face the bastard. In a split second, I'm standing before him, poking him in his sharply dressed, extremely hard chest.
"Stop calling me a whore, you -"
"Overbearing, obnoxious, gun-toting, over-compensating, shit-for-brains, pig-headed, cunt-faced, twat-monger."
"Oh, you remembered? I've been brushing up on my insults, just for you. Would you like me to add to that list?" I realize my finger is still pressed into his chest. He reaches up, grabs it, then twists my arm behind my back, spinning me around to face the other guys. They stand there sending him death glares. Why don't they do anything? Killian applies just enough pressure to make me gasp, but it doesn't hurt. He's trying to get a rise out of the guys, and it's working. What is his deal? Both men stand but don't move forward. A stare down ensues, and I'm caught, literally right in the middle.
"I need you both in the basement now. We have a situation; I need you to deal with it. The situation isn't being very cooperative, and I need you two to handle it before I - fuck it up beyond repair." His voice is so cold; it sends chills down my spine. He lets my arm go and wraps his arm around my stomach, pulling me into him. War and Mag don't budge. Please don't leave me alone with him.
"Go. I won't hurt her, but I need to have a word with her alone." This time his voice is less harsh, but still stern. The guys both look to me, and I nod. I can take care of myself. I've handled this asshole once, I can do it again.
"I'm fine." I say. The both return my nod, then take off toward the stairs. I'm assuming to put more clothes on.
As soon as they leave, Killian let's go of me and slumps into the stool that Warren was previously occupying. He looks utterly exhausted. I stand for a moment, not sure what to do. Then I glance at his side, and notice a small splotch of red marking his otherwise immaculate white shirt. I walk over and reach out to untuck his shirt for a better look. I must startle him, because as soon as I touch his side, he jumps up, spins, and grabs me by the throat, raising me up until I'm on my tippy toes. I gasp, and it's like he finally realizes what's going on, as a look of panic crosses his usually controlled, expressionless face. He lets go of me and steps back. I wait for an apology, but none comes.
"Don't sneak up on me." He warns.
"I didn't, you knew I was still here, you literally just sat down, right in front of me. I just want to look at your wound; you're bleeding." I say.
"It's not mine." He says. I freeze. It should freak me out, right? It should make me run and never look back. Instead, I'm intrigued.
"Sit down. Eat." he commands. I oblige, sitting in the stool furthest away from him. I grab a few grapes not wanting to disobey, and tell him I already ate. He sits back down, and just stares off in front of him. Warren and Mag come running back down the stairs, this time fully dressed with the same expressions on their faces that Killian usually has. All business, with a hint of danger.
"Go. She's fine. For now." Killian says, glancing at them. Magnus moves first, heading through the dining room and around the mystery corner I still haven't seen. Warren is still sending Killian a death glare that would probably make anyone tremble in their shoes. Killian doesn't even look at him. Killian is obviously the one in charge, but what is their deal? I thought they were friends, but he orders them around, and they always obey.
"I'm fine. I can handle myself." I bluff. He looks at me and raises an eyebrow, completely unconvinced. I smile at him, and that seems to disarm him enough.
"We won't be long." He says, then takes off in the same direction as Magnus.
"Two nights of sex, and you've already turned my men against me." Killian speaks. I look at him, expecting another glare, but he just looks...tired. With his face relaxed, it's easier to see the bags under his eyes. His normally slicked back hair is disheveled, and his usually tightly buttoned shirt and tie is slightly askew. He pops a grape in his mouth.
"What can I say? I guess I have a magic pussy." I shrug. Apparently, it's enough to shock Killian so much he spits the grape out of his mouth, sending it flying. It ricochets off the cabinet and goes flying into the other room. Killian looks at me, and I swear to God I see the faintest hint of a smile developing.
"I've felt your pussy, it's not that magical." He says. I'm slightly offended by this. I get up and walk in front of Killian. He turns in the stool so he's facing me, and I seductively saunter right up between his legs, until I'm pressed tightly right up against him. He leans back, resting his elbows on the island. I reach up, and grab his tie, loosening it, and untying it. I have a sneaking suspicion that he was just in the basement beating someone up. Who does that wearing expensive trousers, a white shirt, a dark blue tie, and matching suspenders? Then again, what kind of weirdo tries to seduce a man who has just been in the basement beating the shit out of someone? I don't recognize who I am anymore. For some reason, I feel the need to conquer this dangerous man in front of me. I stare into his eyes, so full of hate, pain, and fear. I don't think he knows just how easy it is for me to read him.
"Why are you so afraid?" I ask. He tenses, and his cold mask is back on his face. Bingo. I found the right button to push.
"I'm not afraid. Why are you so stupid?" He asks me. What a great comeback... I fight the urge to roll
my eyes. Instead, I lean forward so that I'm leaning right onto him. I have to stand on my toes to achieve the angle I want. I lean until my lips are just a breath away from his. I can feel his heartbeat pick up through his chest, matching my racing heart. I'm so close, I can see his pupils dilated with arousal. His mesmerizing, dark eyes lighting just a fraction.
"Let me clarify. Why are you so afraid of me? I'm just a dancer." I whisper. He licks his lips and nearly touches mine. The anticipation lights up my core. My body screams for him to make contact. "Why am I not good enough for you?" Fuck, that wasn't what I meant to say. Now, he's seen my insecurity. He smiles now that I've shown him mine. Damn, I was so close to making him crack.
"I'm not afraid of you, sweetheart. The problem isn't that you aren't good enough for me. The problem I have with you is that I'm not good enough for you. My men aren't good enough. No man is good enough for you. You're some kind of goddess that needs to be placed upon a pedestal and worshiped for eternity from afar. A goddess that wars are fought over, treachery committed over; just for one kiss, one taste of your sweet lips. You, Love, are dangerous."
I've never heard anything so beautiful in my entire life.
The meaning behind it isn't lost. He thinks I'm going to tear their little group apart. I'm determined to prove him wrong. Instead of waiting for him, I close the distance and roughly kiss his full lips. He freezes. I don't think he's used to not being in control. I continue, and finally, he kisses me back. Furiously. In mere seconds, I'm moaning into his lips, and finally, he reaches up and actually touches me. He runs his fingers through my hair as he leans forward, dropping his tough guy attitude and kissing me as himself. His real self. Then, as if he senses that I'm aware of him, he puts his walls back up. He roughly pulls my hair, bringing my head back and breaking our kiss. I whimper in disappointment. I'm not wearing any panties, and my tight shorts are soaked with my excitement. I need this man's touch like I need air to breath. He takes a deep breath and composes himself.
“Are you sure you want to see the real me?" He asks.
"Show me." I challenge. A sinister grin crosses his face, and I'm legitimately frightened. What the fuck am I doing? That lustful glint in his eyes trumps my fear.
"Fine. You asked for it. The safe word is -" I can't help but interrupt him.
"Jingle Balls." He just stares at me in confusion, before collecting himself. Thank God, I didn't ruin the fucking mood. He just growls, and let’s go of my hair, then spins me around and roughly pushes me toward the dining room. The dining room?
"Strip down. Lay on the table." He says, then walks to the door in separating the dining room from whatever lies beyond. He closes and locks it. Which seems silly, considering you can see into the dining room from the rest of the house. He turns around and sees me still standing and staring at him. He narrows his eyes, and I remember what he told me to do. I take a deep breath; then, I do what he says, lifting my top over my head, and dropping it to the floor. I peel off the tight, black shorts, and toss them next to my shirt. I let his eyes soak in my nudity, then slowly turn and walk to the large table. It seats six. Four chairs in the center, and two on the ends. I move one of end chairs, and then climb up on the table. This should feel awkward, but I'm too curious to care. I lay down, my back touching the cold hardwood surface.
"Don't move." He says. I just nod, and stare up at the elegant chandelier above me. I hear him scoot out the remaining chairs across the floor but don't move. Then he moves both of my arms above my head, stretching them out and having me grab onto the edges of the table. I'm not long enough to reach the corner, so he just has me hold the sides. Then he does the same with my feet, so I'm lying in a big X. Then, he leaves the room. Do I just lay here? He did say don't move. Maybe this is some kind of joke? He doesn't seem like the kind of man to joke though, so I do what he says and just lay here in this prone position. After several moments, I finally hear his footsteps approaching. Please dear God, let it be Killian's footsteps, and not someone else.
"I'm going to tie you the table." His stern voice says from the doorway. I don't dare speak. Part of me is nervous, but an even larger part of me needs this. He grabs my left leg first, looping a long, black strap around my ankle, then fastening the other end around the table leg. Then he does the same with the other one. I pull, but they are fastened securely. I study him as he works, expressionless and in control.
He walks past me and removes my arms from the table edges, and pulls a pair of leather cuffs from his pants’ pocket. I take a deep breath, steadying a brief surge of claustrophobia. As I breathe out, I can feel the desire build in the pit of my stomach, like a sudden weight of arousal just waiting to be released. He cuffs one hand, then walks over to the corner of the room, and picks up a very large, very heavy, reproduction of Venus de Milo statue...wearing a Santa hat. The base is a heavy marble square. My heart starts racing with fear, unsure of what he plans to do with it. It's only about three feet tall, but it takes effort for Killian to lift it. For a man that big to show that much effort lets me know just how heavy it is. For some reason, I trust him. I close my eyes, and will my heart to slow down.
He sets it down between my arms, then cuffs my hands together around the statue above my head. He positions it so I'm stretched out fully, and can't move. It's effectively anchoring me where I am. He pulls my arms up a bit, so they are resting on top of the cold marble base. I open my eyes and the famous statue bust is staring down at me. In a fucking Santa hat. When I look at Killian, he’s standing at the end of the table by my feet, hunger in his eyes. More than hunger. I can see anger, hate, fear, all swirling around, barely being contained by the tight control he holds over himself. I get it now. This is his outlet. This is why he said I can't handle the things he needs to do. That’s what he thinks. Challenge accepted.
"You're wrong." My steady voice breaks his concentration. He looks at me, waiting for more explanation. "I can handle anything you need to do to me. I trust you." He flinches at the last three words. He doesn't say anything, just pulls off his shirt and tosses into the pile made by my clothes. His white undershirt follows, revealing his sculpted chest and his well-hidden tattoos.
A giant Celtic cross stretches across his broad chest, the bottom of it ending just above his navel. Each point has a fierce skull. He looks sinister standing before me, half naked, with his dark hair and black tattoo standing out on his light skin. When I look into his face, his cold mask is back. Slowly, he walks over to me, leans down, places a hand on either side of my head, and kisses me. I moan into his mouth, and his kiss intensifies. He roughly shoves his tongue in my mouth, and more than willingly accept it. Desire and arousal take over, and I feel myself grow wetter. I need him to touch me. Instead, he stands up, leaving me cold and wanting. He quickly undoes his pants, and removes them along with his underwear, so he's standing before me completely naked, and fully erect. I lick my lips, and he smirks for a brief second. The closest thing to a smile I've seen from him. It's then I notice he has something in one of his hands. I can't see what it is though.
"I don't think you're afraid enough yet." He says. I wrinkle my face in confusion, then hear a crack from the object in his hand as he flicks his wrist. I look, and he's holding the black flogger with the red stitching that I saw in his closet the other day. I'm thrown for a second, a burst of fear filtering through me. I take a breath and steady myself. I trust him, for some stupid reason, and I want to see this through. He frowns at my lack of response.
"Let’s see what you've got." I challenge. He growls in response, then stalks forward slowly.
"I'm not going to hurt you." He says, and I swallow the last little bit of fear I held. He leans down and kisses me again, this time gentler. He palms my breast with one hand. It's the first time he's really touched me, in a way that wasn't demanding or trying to push me away. His touch is strong and calculating. He knows exactly what he's doing when he tugs slightly on my nipple, lightly twisting the metal barbell. Enough to cause pain, but plea
sure as well. I whimper into his mouth; he kisses my cheek, the side of my neck, below my ear. I'm seeing a soft side of him. He's letting me see a soft side of him. He trails kisses down my collarbone, and then the center of my chest, before reaching my other breast, and lowering his mouth to my nipple, sucking and pulling it into his mouth. It sends a shockwave of bliss and excitement to my core, I can almost feel myself drip onto the table. Then all at once, he stops and stands.
"I think you're wet enough now." He says, holding the flogger up. I tense for a second, but force myself to relax. He licks his lips, then snaps the flogger at me, just barely touching my stomach. The touch is light, but with a hint of pain. Then he reaches down and rubs the spot, taking away the sting.
"That's what it feels like. Your pussy is next." He says, then immediately snaps it at my core, hitting me just right. Pleasurable pain shoots through me. I cry out and moan as if he's just thrust himself inside of me. He rubs my pussy with his other hand, bringing moisture up to my clit, then snaps the flogger again. It hits me in several points in that area, each one sending a jolt of excitement and pleasure through me. He rubs me again, just before hitting me one more time, this time adjusting the angle slightly so he gets part of my ass.
"Next time, I'm spanking your full, sexy ass." He growls out.
"Yes, please!" I beg, hoping he'll untie me and do it. He just smirks.
"Not today." He says, then flips the flogger around so that the handle is touching my clit. He begins to rub it against me. The smooth leather a completely foreign feeling. I close my eyes, and move my hips against it, as much as my limited movement will allow. I hear him growl again and wish it was his cock that was rubbing me. My pleasure builds, and I'm just about to orgasm when he abruptly stops. I cry out in frustration.
"Patience." Is all he says, then he starts rubbing me with his hand, before slowly sliding the handle of the flogger inside of me. The handle is thick, and stretches me, the smooth leather feels so alien inside me. He slides in to the hilt, and then pulls it almost all the way out before repeating the slow and methodical process. It's too slow, and I try to move my hips forward, but I can't. I try to move my arms, but forget they are being anchored with the large statue. I need this release. I need it bad. I'm just about to beg when the pace picks up. Then he leans down, and I feel his mouth close over my clit. He sucks and tongues me while fucking me with the flogger handle. I cry out and grind myself into him as much as I can. This time I do explode, and convulse around the flogger handle. He doesn't let up though, only increases his pace more frantically. The sensation is overwhelming and just as I'm about to tell him to stop, I orgasm again! He pulls the handle out, and I feel my wetness drip down onto the table. I don't think I've ever came this much before.